Monthly Archives: February 2013

Pardon the Interruption


Ok, I said I was going to start doing “Interactive Friday” but after thinking about it, it’s really a stupid idea so never mind.  I’m still finding my way in the blog world so bear with me.

What I am going to tell you is that today will be my last post for a week or so.  I am leaving for a 3 day fun-filled girls scrapbooking retreat and will not be posting because I’ll be busy being creative, drinking Skinny Girl Margaritas (no wine, I promise) and laughing so hard I may pee my pants.  Oh, and trying to cope with all the food and liquor that flows at this thing and being really, really strong and not eat or drink any of it.   (Note:  There is this one chick who works for a liquor company and she sets up a bar in the corner of the room for all to share.  Pray for me).

I have packed my bag with carrots, low fat pretzel sticks, hummus and clementines if I feel the need to nosh on something.  I also have packed sneakers and workout clothes to actually use the gym they have at the hotel.  This is my 3rd year doing this and I’ve always walked by the gym, laughed and said, “yeah, right.”  Well, this year I will be the one being laughed at.  (Sorry roomies, it’s true.  Suck it up.)

So getting back to why I am taking a week’s break.  I can hear you say, “but you are only leaving for 3 days.”  Well, just so you know, when you have a blog, you get really annoying spam.  But one certain piece of spam was actually really helpful and talked about SEO and keyword rich content, blah, blah, blah. I used to be part owner of an online scrapbooking store.  I pretty much created the entire website so I should know better.  I know about SEO and keywords.

So, I am taking this opportunity to make my site better.  For me.  For you.  For everyone.  I would like more people to see me and I know what I need to do to achieve that goal.  The problem I have right now is that I am constantly thinking of things to write about.  And I am forever jotting notes, talking into my recorder or typing on my laptop.  Real honest-to-God writers must go absolutely mad.  I never get the time to do any real constructive work on my site.  Or clean my house.  But that’s another story.  In a nutshell, I’m really bad at managing my time.

I know you didn’t really need to hear all this boring crap, but to make a long story short (or is it too late?) I’m taking a break to better my writing skills, be funnier and make my blog more appealing and searchable.  Make sense?

I’ll miss you.  Try not to miss me too much.  I’ll be back.  Thank you for your patience while we are under construction.  Have a nice week.

Dress Down

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See this dress?  I wore it to death. It was long, almost to my ankles, had a cute little belt and buttons that started half way down my back and went all the way to the bottom.  I adored this dress.

I used to have to commute about 45 minutes one way to work.  I worked for a big corporation in White Plains.  It was fun, but the days were long.  One evening, after I pulled into the driveway, I noticed that Dan from across the street was hanging out with my brother on the front porch.  Oh joy.  He’s such an asshole.  I was not in the mood to deal with him.

After I collected my things from my car and walked up the stairs to the house, Dan says to me “nice ass.”  Gee, thanks Dan.  You’re an asshole.  And yes, I do have a nice ass.  Thank you very much.

I go into the house and continue on to my room to change.  I reach behind me to unbutton my dress and the blood immediately leaves my face.  Holy shit!  I have just died.  They are already undone.  From the top button all the way to the bottom.  The asshole got a nice shot of my butt.  My thonged butt.  Thank God pantyhose were in at the time.  At least they covered up something.

I figured that they must have come loose in the car.  This is what happens when you love something to death.  It doesn’t pay to be loyal.  You just get shit on.  The button holes must have stretched out after about a million wears.  It was time to retire my beloved dress.  I did love you so.  Well, until you did this to me.

So, that was a major wardrobe malfunction to say the least.  I would say second to Janet Jackson’s ordeal.  Except I didn’t do mine on purpose.  I swear.

Go Outside and……Oh, Never Mind

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Remember when we were children?  There was no such thing as the video game.  We had no smart phones or computers to keep us busy.  What we did have was the Great Outdoors.  Our mother’s favorite thing to say was, “go outside and stay outside.”  I think we were only allowed to play inside of it were raining.

I remember leaving after breakfast and only coming home for lunch and dinner.  Our rule was we had to come in for good when the street light’s came on.  DH’s mom had a cow bell attached to the front of her house that she would ring to let her boys know it was time for lunch, dinner or bed.  It was a simpler time.  It was a carefree time.

When the kid was little, I remember feeling so resentful that I couldn’t let her play as I did.  Why couldn’t I?  When did it change?  I mean, I think they had just as many perverts back then as they do now, maybe even more.  My parents weren’t afraid some psycho was going to snatch us off the street.

Because I had to conform to society and because I loved my kid and was scared shitless of what the media said, I kept her in.  Safe and sound.  I remember if she played outside in the yard, I would pull up a chair. I mean, we would hear on the news that weirdo’s were coming into people’s yards and taking their children.  Out of their own yard!  That right there is some scary shit.

What are our kids going to tell their children?  Probably something that sounds a bit like this:  “When I was young, we would play Wii until the cows came home.  And there was this really cute place called a Park and all the moms would sit on the bench and watch us like hawks while we played.  I remember this one time, your grandmother had a heart attack because she lost sight of me for about 40 seconds.  Haha!  It was a trip.  You should have seen the look on her face.  We almost had to call 911 on her.”

I can totally see why we are called helicopter parents.  These poor kids will not have street smarts. My kid sometimes forgets to look both ways before crossing the street because she always assumes it’s my job.  I don’t think she can find her way out of a paper bag.  I’m afraid when she goes off to college she’s not going to know what to do.  How to navigate.  We’re going to have to pin a GPS device to her jacket.

Look, I know I’m exaggerating a bit.  I have dropped the kid off at the mall with some friends and she comes home unscathed.   I’m learning to let go a little.  Be a little less afraid.  So let’s see….three years, 6 months and approximately 1 week until she leaves for college.  A little more time for me to hover.  Then what?  Advice to give our kids who are going off to college:  don’t put your drink down and travel in packs.  Let’s hope they listen or I’ll be having another heart attack.  Or twelve.

I Think It’s Time

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In case you are wondering, that is my chin.  Not my mother’s chin although I can see where you would make that mistake (sorry, mom).   Not Mount St. Helens.  Or a lumpy cushion.  My chin.

When did this happen?  It use to look like this:

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and like this:

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Now that I have given up wine during Lent (except on Sundays) even though technically I didn’t need to because I no longer practice the Catholic religion but do practice Lent so I will do it for Jesus, I have decided that now is as good as any to get my fat ass up and moving.  In addition to the fact that I have completely lost my neck, I want you to see that I have also lost my sweet little booty and flat stomach but gained some nice arm and back fat. I actually used to have really nice legs.  They too, are gone.  This is me at 154.6 pounds:

Day 1 - Front View

Day 1 – Front View

Day 1 - Side View

Day 1 – Side View

I know.  Don’t be jealous.  Jealousy is not very becoming.

A fellow momblogger, http://not-your-average-mom.com (if you haven’t read her blog, please do. She’s really funny) has inspired me.  She has been posting pictures of herself during her weight loss journey.  Don’t expect as good results from me so quickly because she works out A LOT.

So, I decided that in order for me to finally get moving and do something about this problem, I am going to commit to my readers.  Because if I don’t follow through I will embarrass myself and this is a small town.  I don’t want you bitches talking smack about me.  I say that in jest.  Love to you all.

I know I’m really putting myself out there.  I am being real and I am being honest.  I am sharing the bad and the ugly.  But I have zero drive and even less will power and I’m afraid if I don’t do something to make myself accountable, I will continue to be on the downward slope.  And I don’t ski.

So far today I have walked 3 miles in the freezing 25 degree weather, had a salad for lunch and drank more water than usual.  I’m off to a good start.  But it’s only day 1 and I still have to meet the girls tonight for my weekly “Monday Night with the Girls” ritual.  Wish me luck.

If you don’t mind, I will post a new pic each week to see if I’m changing for the better.  If you don’t want to look, please don’t.  I know it’s a lot to ask and I appreciate your support.  And who wants to look at me week after week?  I don’t.  That’s why I’m doing this.  Goodbye double chin.  You are no longer welcome.

A Boy and His Toy

See this?

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It’s one of DH’s toys.  It is big.  It is red.  It is, um…big.  It is also in my living room.

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Why, you ask? Because I am really, really awesome.  And because if he doesn’t do this, the gas tank will accumulate condensation and ruin the engine. Some shit like that.  To tell you the truth, I think he’s pulling my leg.  “A lot of guys store their motorcycles in the living room during the winter months,” he says.  I have yet to see one.  And in case you are wondering, the answer is yes.  We do have a garage.  And a shed.  And a trailer specifically made for this bike.  Unfortunately, they are not heated.  Even more unfortunate, our living room is.

I must say it is quite the conversation piece though.  I think it stirs up more discussion than if we had an original Van Gogh hanging on the wall.  We even get to keep the curtains on the back windows closed from November-March so that the sun doesn’t discolor it.  Even though it is completely sheathed in cloth.  So, if you suffer from Seasonal Defective Disorder, my house is probably not a good place for you to visit about 4 months out of the year.

I guess I really shouldn’t complain.  It could be worse.  He could be sleeping with it.  All I can say is thank God he can’t get it up the stairs.  Oh, and the bike is for sale.  Really, it is.  Call me to negotiate a price.  I’ll even throw in the curtains.  Anything, as long as I don’t have to share my living room with this piece of machinery another winter.  As lovely as it is.  Or you will find me in the shed next November.

The Death of a Habit?

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I was on Facebook today and I saw that a friend posted this article about the dangers of drinking. Here is the headline:

Even Moderate Drinking Linked to Increased Cancer Risk

Oh dear God.  If this is true, then I am a dead woman.  Basically, the article talks some shit about how even having a glass of wine a day can increase your risk of getting cancer by, well, a lot.

I am one of those people who has a glass of wine every night.  Ok, maybe not EVERY night.  Let’s say the average month consists of 30 days.  I drink wine about 28 days a month.  And about 22 of those days I have more than just one glass.  The odds are not in my favor.

So here I was using the excuse to drink red wine because it was really good for your heart and since I have high cholesterol I thought it was great because I would just have a glass of wine with my steak (total run-on sentence — sorry).  Except now the cancer risk outweighs the heart healthy part.

It’s funny because my mom has been telling me for years about this cancer/alcohol link.  I pretty much just roll my eyes and open a bottle of my favorite Cabernet.  You have to understand something about my mom.  She reads everything and watches CNN like it’s the only show on TV. So, every “new” development that comes up, which is pretty much every day, I’m sure to know about it.  The most ridiculous thing like breathing can cause lung cancer.  Ok, I’m kidding.  But shit, everything gives us cancer these days.

If I listened to everything my mom told me, here are the things I would have to give up:

  • Cooked meat  – Have you ever had an uncooked hamburger?  Yum.  Watch out for those tape worms though.
  • Sun  – An oldie but a goodie.  Slather on that lotion.  Or be pale and cold.  Your choice.
  • Mouthwash – In lieu of the recent study, this one should be a no brainer.
  • Vitamins  – Yup.  This is a new one.  Those antioxidants are serious bad boys.
  • Body lotion – Yes, even body lotion.  It can cause breast cancer believe it or not.  So, do we slather on lotion to avoid skin cancer, or go out in the sun without it to avoid breast cancer?
  • Alcoholic beverages – I have nothing to say except it just sucks.

So anyway, now that I’ve actually seen it in words, I’m suddenly freaked out.  Like, really freaked out.  I even went out to lunch with the family today and didn’t order a glass of wine.  That’s unheard of.  For some reason, I think any time I sit in a restaurant there is this rule that I have to drink wine.  So, I ordered water and I didn’t actually die.

Ok, so I can give up body lotion and mouthwash.  But wine?  There are no words.  I think I’m in mourning.  I’ll start my mourning on Monday, with my New Year’s Resolutions.

I Am a Do Gooder

I signed the kid up for tennis camp last summer.  Outdoor tennis camp.  In 90 degree weather.  With students who could rival Billie Jean King.  To top it off, it was an hour away.

Every morning we would sit in rush hour traffic, all the time asking myself, “where is my crown?”  This one certain morning we get stuck in construction traffic.  It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t the only single lane street leading into town, but it was.  There were police officers directing traffic, but I see that there is someone trying to make a left onto the street from a parking lot.

No one seems to be letting him in.  What’s wrong with people?  So I stop to allow him room to pull out.  But he doesn’t.  I flash my lights.  Nothing. I give him the universal hand signal to go ahead.  Nothing.  Finally, I roll my window down and start waving like a crazy lady while whispering (well, maybe not whispering exactly) obscenities.  What?  Is he on his cell phone or something?  The guy isn’t paying a damn bit of attention.

The cop in front of me is starting to get pissed that I’m holding up traffic.  The cars behind me….that’s a different story.  Suddenly I hear a low giggle beside me and this — “Uh, mom?  You do realize that there is no one in that car, don’t you?”  Oh.  Geez, you could have told me…

By the way, did you know that Billie Jean King is still alive?  I thought she died like 20 years ago.  I found out because I was looking up the correct spelling of her name. I must have been getting her confused with Arthur Ashe.  Simple mistake. Anyone could have made it.  Right?

Won’t You Be My Friend?

10 things you need to know about me before you become my friend:

  1. I pee when I laugh too hard.  I’ve been known to run to the toilet and pee through my pants to save a carpet.  Just ask my best girlfriend P (“P”.  Haha).
  2. I love to eat.  I am capable of breaking the diets of close friends because I am a really bad influence.  Even if you think you are focused.  I’m not kidding.  Let that be your warning.
  3. I can be a bit of a hypochondriac.  Remember my eye dotty thing?  I really thought I would die and started planning my funeral in my head.  It was beautiful.
  4. I am laid back but prone to anxiety attacks (isn’t that an oxymoron?).  Mainly because I’ve eaten a pound of nachos with a shitload of sour cream for dinner and I’m afraid I will keel over of a heart attack in my sleep.
  5. Don’t tell my mother but I would prefer to watch The Housewives of NYC than the State of the Union speech.
  6. I am peri-menopausal and will wake up in a pool of sweat deeper than the pool at the “Y”.
  7. I have the memory of a goldfish.  You will find that out if you make plans with me and I forget.
  8. I suffer from FIMD — Foot in Mouth Disease.  I am extremely inappropriate, loud mouthed and obnoxious.  You never know what will come out of my mouth so beware.
  9. I snore.   Bring a pair of earplugs if you stay over because otherwise you will think someone is cutting wood with a jackhammer.  DH hasn’t slept since 1992.
  10. I think Robert Redford is hot even though he is so old he is moldy.  Oh, Hubbell.

Even after knowing all that, I hope you still will be my friend.  I’m really putting myself out there.  What do I need to know to be your friend?

Flatsy Patsy

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I was a member of the “Itty Bitty Titty Committee.”  It’s true.  I had the tank top to prove it.  My friend and I each had one.  It was a great committee to be a part of.  We were so cool.  I know, anyone who knows me can’t believe it.  I was a flat-chested teenager.

What’s worse is we would actually walk around with this shirt on.  I mean, walk a mile to the deli after school on a main road kind of wear.  Wow.  There are no other words.

I used to get teased in school for my lack of, um, boobies.  There was this one certain boy, let’s call him “Danny.”  Well, because that was his actual name.  He used to rub the top of the desk like he was rubbing my chest.  Even though it appears as if I completely embraced my lack of….boobies, Danny really got to me.  Once I ran home crying to my dad.  He was so supportive.  His reply?  “Well, it’s true.”  Nice, dad, real nice.  Danny even bought me a box of bandaids once.  And they weren’t meant to cover a cut.

One day, I woke up and there they were.  Finally.  I was about 17.

It was some time after graduation and I was pumping gas at a local gas station when guess who is getting gas at the next pump over?  Yup. You got it.  Danny.  There was genuine shock on his face and he seemed a bit too happy to see me.  But there was something wrong with his eyes.  Yo Dan, up here dude.  My face is up here, about 6 inches higher.  Oh, and eat your heart out.  I heard he married a flat-chested girl.  Hahahahaha…sorry.  I’m over it.  Really, I am.

Late for a Very Important Date

1334855912869_7115525I try to be punctual. I really do.  If I’m meeting the girls for a drink, dinner or a movie, I’m consistently on time. Sometimes even a bit early.

For some reason, I can’t seem to be on time for something really important. Like a doctor’s appointment. As you know, the other day I was seeing a new eye doctor because of that weird dotty thing that showed up on an X-ray.

Before I left for my appointment, DH asked me to stop by the bank to make a deposit. Sure I’m going by there anyway. The only problem is that the customer at the drive-up window is taking forever.  Then after what seems like an eternity, I see the little drawer pop out of the window.  Oh, thank God.  I was just starting to get that irritating tingling feeling I get when I start to lose it.  But then the chick in the car sits there for what seems like minutes. Freaking hell.  MOVE.IT.ALONG.

Then I get on the highway.  So we had a blizzard that dumped 2 feet of snow on us. Get over it. That was three days ago. Then we had a little frozen rain last night. So what?  Look if you can’t handle a little ice, you probably should stay home. People who drive the speed limit in the fast lane really ought to be ashamed of themselves.

Then there’s the person at the light.  Where does it say “No Right on Red?”  NO WHERE THAT’S WHERE!  Good golly people. At this point, I’m screaming every obscenity known to man thinking this moron is going to hear me.  That’s right, put your foot on that little pedal down there that makes your car go forward.  It’s real easy.

After all that, I was only one minute past my appointment time. Where I sat in the waiting room for 43 minutes. Where after they put that stupid blurry eye drop crap in my eyes I had to go back out and sit in the waiting room for another 22 minutes.  Nothing like a little hurry up and wait to end the day.

On the way home I felt so much more relaxed. I’m in no rush.  And I’m relieved I only have a freckle.  It’s such a nice feeling.  Wait a minute.  Why is this guy up my ass?  Geez. Some people.